


Comfort

by HeatherGiesbrecht



Category: Crimson Peak (2015)
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe, Anger, Angst, Aristocracy, Boats and Ships, Brother/Sister Incest, Chocolate, Comfort, Explicit Language, F/M, Family, Fear, Fights, Fist Fights, Ghosts, Happy Ending, Possessive Behavior, Purple Prose, Sexual Content, Sibling Incest, Temporary Character Death, Wine, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-01 13:03:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4020820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeatherGiesbrecht/pseuds/HeatherGiesbrecht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course, it had started innocently enough.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic only focusing on het and my first incest one ever. Plus I've tried to write it in a mainly older style, so if it doesn't work please forgive me. Otherwise, sex and violence are in the second and third chapters respectively and I hope you enjoy it. Also, I don't know what the Sharpes eye-colours are, I'm guessing Thomas's is light, I'm going with grey, but I could also be wrong about it.

Lucille had only ever had Thomas for comfort from her nightmares, the ghosts, everything. Her brother was the only thing that was safe apart from their home. The outer world was more terrifying in its randomness than the ghosts were. At home, she could avoid the ghosts by locking the doors. Out in the world there were no locks in which her keys would fit leaving Thomas as her only reliance. It had started innocently enough when they were children crawling into each other’s beds after nightmares. A benefit of sleeping in the same bed was that the ghosts left them alone. The ghosts mostly preferred certain rooms, some had certain times and all preferred isolation during and with which to scare them.

One day it was getting very late in the evening and she had just left the library, she loved the library because the ghosts did not normally favour it. Therefore, it startled her to hear a voice behind her. The voice started at first calling her in an almost playful whisper before it became an angry shriek, “Luc-ille, Luc-ille. **Lucille, Lucille !** ”, and many floorboards creaked as a ghost rushed at her.

Will alone held back her scream of terror, tightly gripping the candelabrum, with her heart beating harder than a horse at gallop she fled. Upward, ever up she went never looking back for fear of finally seeing something while it kept taunting her. Without conscious thought, she burst into Thomas’s bedroom. Small fires blazed, but she noticed them not as she noticed not where she put the candelabrum. The only thing she noticed besides her heartbeat pounding in her ears, was that her brother stood in the middle of the room and going to him.

Grey-eyes were alight and filled with much concern as they met hers. Thomas took her hand and distantly she noticed that his skin was damp. His voice soothed her and she realized that she'd been near to tears. “Sister, Lucille, what is wrong ?”

As had become normality a strong, queer warmth filled her when he said her name. Oh, how lovely it sounded on his lips, too much so, though it still felt nice. More shaken by the ghost than the feeling, she shook her head in silence before laying it on his shoulder. That feeling made it fascinating to watch the light gleam off beads of water that were snaking their way down Thomas’s neck. No matter that she tried, she could not fully suppress her shiver when his hand slid up her arm and shoulder, brushed light as a feather up the side of her neck to stroke her hair whilst pondering her silence.

Despite knowing the answer, since it helped her, he asked anyways. “It was one of the ghosts again was it not ?”

“Yes.” Her voice cracking halfway through Lucille continued, “Has there ever been a time without them, Brother ?”

One of the water droplets reached her eye-level as he said, “If there was than it was before our time.” Almost she wanted to lick the droplet, but she managed to resist the urge. Unaware of her present urge Thomas continued, “The estate‘s history does not mention specifically when the first ghost appeared. However, surely, surely we are not the only ones haunted like this ?”

When his hand stopped moving over her hair, she wanted to protest. Instead of doing that she responded, “I would think we are not. Thomas…d-do you think that I might sleep with you tonight ? I fear getting waylaid by the ghost again if I go to my own rooms.”

“Lucille…” Her brother suddenly released her hand then cleared his throat. “Ah, yes, of course you may. Perhaps you should put out the candelabra and get ready for bed, now.”

Confused by his slight change in demeanour, she raised her head off his shoulder; her left hand, which had moved to Thomas’s shoulder blade, absently, stroked it. That was when she realized that she could clearly feel every single muscle as he breathed. That she could feel his hips and thighs pressed tightly against hers, he was utterly naked.

She gasped briefly, “Oh, Brother !”, while she closed and covered her eyes, backed up and turned away. Unconsciously, she kept them covered trying to both memorize and savour the image while saying the opposite. “I do wish you had told me first so that you could dress before I started on.”

_‘I remember what that feeling is now: desire. He’s so beautiful, so caring and strong. It’s not fair that some woman he hardly knows gets to teach him on their wedding night. She could never truly appreciate him, his emotions, like I do.’_

Briefly, the sound of bare-feet on tile filled the room as Thomas moved to his bed and cloth rustled as he picked something up. A deep sigh left her as she uncovered and opened her eyes, realized that her dress was damp and likely her shift as well.

Thomas would not accept her blaming herself. “Lucille, your well-being means far more to me than dressing myself. You are the only thing in the world that I love.”

His words made her smile, but they also made her feel guilty for wanting to look at him again. For wanting her hands tangled in sweat-slicked hair as he grasped her hips and breathed her name, pleading for the utmost of damning pleasures. She wanted an impossible comfort, the comfort of knowing that Thomas was the only one to have her wholly. Simply thinking it made her breath catch, her heart race, and the deepest muscles she never touched, lest her future husband complain to Thomas, ache.

_‘Oh, how I want that. Truly I will go to hell when I die, I must. How can wanting to have sex with my brother not be one of the most debauched of all things ? Lot’s daughters I am not, but surely I am close.’_

To distract herself, she walked over to the bedside table to pick up the golden snuffer and started putting out the various candelabra. Shadow did nothing to calm her heartbeat when Thomas suddenly reached out to take the snuffer and gently ordered, “To bed.”

Carefully, she undressed and folding it laid her dress on top of the bedside table. Left in her shift, her skin prickled from the cold as she crawled under the thick blanket. Unwittingly, her eyes drifted closed, most of her senses fading with nearing sleep. Still every tiny movement that her brother made seemed amplified, especially sometime later when the blanket rasped softly against the sheets, the bed dipped and he joined her.

His warm presence loomed, he reached out a hand which hovered hesitantly over her face. Seconds passed and his breath caught just before his hand smoothed her hair behind her ear. This time he leaned down to kiss her cheek and whispered, “Sweet dreams, Sister. I love you…more then I should.” A long and shaken exhale accompanied his last words.

Unconsciously, she turned her face to him a small, but brilliant, smile on her lips. Thomas lowered the blanket fully then lay beside her, sighing, “Doomed…doomed and damned I am.”

_‘Well, Brother, we are damned together you just don't know it. Tomorrow, tomorrow, I shall tell him.’_

Content, she drifted into sleep with his arm loosely around her waist.


	2. Seasick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucille had a few suggestions for dealing with his sickness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a bit of research into general and 1800s-era British swears for this and next chapter so I'm hoping they fit. If they're wrong or in the wrong spot, please feel free to comment.

Thomas groaned as he lay on the bed with his head in Lucille's chemise-covered lap. For an unfathomable reason, he had seasickness and because of the vertigo the ship refused to stop moving. Not even shutting his eyes helped !

Lucille raised his head, she always looked gorgeous but more so when she had her hair down as she did now. She mused, “You could try **another** tonic, brother.”

He opened his eyes to, half-heartedly, glare at his sister and exclaimed, “No ! I am as sick of tonics as I am of the sea. Is there not some other method that I could try ?”

All the while, the ocean liner’s steel-walls kept spinning that made Lucille seem like the calm eye of a storm. _‘I merely hope there will not be actual storms on this voyage. Why does Lucille manage to avoid this ? I do hope that whichever girl I pick she will have similarities to Lucille, at least, in this regard. Ugh, I do not want a wife. I am more than happy with Lucille alone for my love. She is the only one that I want, not some boorish American girl. Of course, most of the Americans do not a clue about us or our family’s reputation thus necessitating our trip.’_

She smiled faintly before leaning down to kiss him. Focused on the feeling of soft lips moving with his, he raised himself and slid his hand up her chemise to cup her right breast. Her lips parted in a soft gasp whilst he rubbed his thumb over her hardening nipple the light-pink hue contrasting with the white-silk.

With a chuckle, he murmured, “I think this will do fine, sister.”

Lucille hummed as she arched her back and wrapped her arms around his nape before straddling him. His sister breathed deliberately deeply as she said, “Mm, good. In fact, if you mind not my saying such, you should get sick more often, Thomas.”

Her lips moved to press against his jaw line, up his chin then nibbled on his lower-lip. If any man had seen what happened next they would have called him a God-less fop because he parted his lips for her. _‘I see not what one faux-debauched thing can do to me when I am already quite well and truly damned. Ah, well, it is so much **more** pleasurable being damned.’ _ Their tongues entwined and he groaned when she took his hands and started caressing her thighs with them.

They broke apart, he leaned his forehead against hers, their panted breaths mingling. Uncertain of what the next actions would entail his fingers tightened in the hem of her chemise. Barely over the sound of his blood rushing, he heard himself think, _‘So far she has agreed every time, but will she again ?’_

Desire further darkened Lucille’s eyes as he asked, “L-Lucille ?”

A relieved exhale left him when she nodded, leaned back and gave him control of his trembling hands. Silk whispered against Lucille’s skin when he started pulling the chemise upward slowly. It was such merely because he loved the tease of her before it was fully off. Firstly, the black pubic-hair which contrasted so gorgeously against pale hips, secondly, the long, smooth stomach and, finally, inch by sensuous inch those utterly lovely breasts.

Since far more pressing matters were at hand, he simply dropped the chemise on the floor. Seconds later, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him dipping his head to leave a trail of kisses from her right-clavicle to her breast. Slowly, oh-so slowly, he traced the darkened areola with his tongue before sucking on her nipple. Lucille’s skin was flushed, her head lolled and her fingers were clenched in the sheets.

She gasped and moaned, “Nn, brother.”

He leaned back to appreciate her fully, sliding a hand through the silky hair that had fallen almost to her shoulder. Awe-struck, he murmured, “ **Yes** , oh, sister, you are gorgeous. If only you could appreciate your own beauty so.”

“I would rather that it be you. After all, you are so good at appreciating me, Thomas.”

Unfortunately, before said appreciation could continue there was a loud and obnoxiously insistent knocking. Frustrated, he buried his head briefly in Lucille’s breasts to kiss the flesh between them softly.

Again, she ran a hand over his hair then sighed. “You might as well go see who the blighter is if only to get rid of him.”

_‘Even Lucille swore, however mild, truly this is a most frustrating situation.’_

With a growl he raised his head and got out of the bed to pull on one of their dark-red silk robes. This one he assumed was Father's because he’d not bought it for himself nor Lucille for him. Only when she had moved from sight did he stalk to open the door.

Dark-red hair and moustache was the first thing he saw. It served only to further irritate him. _‘He mistook Lucille and I for married earlier when we were boarding. So, what does this tart want now ?’_

Despite his intention to repress it, the anger crept into his tone any ways. “Who do you think you are to interrupt me ? How did you get into the First Class quarters and whom do I have thrown overboard ?”

The tan-skinned man cleared his throat, “Um, Mickelson. Lord Sharpe, my name is Mickelson. Did I, erm, interrupt…uh, something between yourself and Lady Sharpe ?”

Quite unusually, he wanted to punch something, more specifically Mickelson many, many times. “I care not what and how many times must it be said ? The Lady Sharpe is my **sister**. Such as it is my title is Sir Sharpe, also so that buffoons like yourself do not assume such utterly ridiculous notions.”

_‘This…annoyance Mickelson needs not know that he is right.’_

Mickelson looked from the hallway to meet his eyes distractedly, “O-of course, my apologies. I merely wanted to see if you had settled in, there is still a near week at sea left, after all.”

Very nearly he laughed when he noticed that the man’s eyes were quite intent on the part of his chest which the robe did not cover.

Still very much annoyed, he said genially, “Your concern whilst admirable is unneeded. Now…” _‘Go bugger yourself, you berk !’_ “Good day, Mickelson.” That whilst he barely restrained himself from slamming the door in the man’s face. Too gently by far did he close the door before he put his back to it with a heavy sigh. _‘If only I did not have to leave the room to lock it.’_

“Perhaps some champagne might hold your seasickness at bay.” Lucille finished the words by returning with two wineglasses that nearly brimmed with the pale champagne, holding one out to him.

Happily, he accepted the glass. “Thank-you, sister.” Not at all expecting her to lean in and drink it, which she promptly did.

Distracted as he was by her tongue sliding across gleaming lips, that is to say very much so, he still managed to protest. “That was mine !”

Her eyes half-lidded whilst a throaty chuckle left her lips, “Well, this pleasure **is** yours.”

Now, she lifted her glass to his own and tilted it for him. A bit of the semi-sweet wine was, quite deliberately, spilled as he stopped. The champagne dripped over his lips and chin to slide down his throat. Unfathomable though it was to him she had the most queer obsession with licking liquids off him, the most frequent spot being his throat. Which, yet again, she promptly did.

Part of the afternoon passed before the two emerged from their rooms to mingle far, far, less pleasurably with their contemporaries.


	3. Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The storm was utterly deafening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if any real-life ocean-liners had railings, but this one does.

A lone crescent moon shone down on Thomas as he oriented on it, leaning against the ocean liner’s railing. Despite the mostly clear sky, slowly roughening waves broke on the hull. The air was heavy with imminent rain and lightning flashed against the backdrop of nearing storm clouds before the rumble of thunder reached his ears.

_‘So, I will not get my wish, after all. I should find Lucille before the waves get much worse. Surely, it should be simple as it is only a ship, after all.’_

From farther up near the bow came Lucille’s shrill scream, “ **Thomas !** Thomas, help !”

_‘Whatever could make her scream ? Lucille has never screamed such since we were little and she saw a ghost for the first time. Did they follow us here ? Are they attacking her ? Not if I can put a stop it !’_

Worried and fearful, his heart beating loudly in his ears, he started running along the aisle. Almost his throat felt too thick for words to escape and yet, somehow, they managed. “ **Lucille !** Lucille, I’m coming !”

The weather, or perhaps it was God Himself, was set against him though; the ship suddenly pitched forward causing him to crash violently to the deck. Near sick with fright, he scrambled upright, swallowed the blood from his bitten-lip, and kept running. Such a horrid sight greeted his eyes as he burst onto the open deck that he wanted to believe that it was a nightmare instead of reality - Lucille was surrounded by four men.

All of them were lower class, dressed in threadbare cotton suits. Two of them were clean-shaven and had black-hair. Thirdly was a blonde with side-burns and it was the last who had red-hair with a short moustache which held a straight razor against his sister’s neck. _‘I remember seeing that red-haired blighter yesterday. What did he say his name was ? Mickelson or some such ?’_

As the rain swept over them Mickelson laughed, “Well, if it isn’t **Sir** Sharpe. If you were to ask me I think your name ought a be Sir Prize. However I would settle for the Lady Sharpe’s prize in lieu of such.”

_‘He just…he just…how dare he threaten her so. What a damned bloody nerve he has ! Unfortunately for him, Lucille is not a maiden.’_

Disgust and outrage filled him when the man leered at Lucille’s downcast face. Lucille’s face already pale with terror set itself into a helpless rage. She reached out before Mickelson’s free hand twisted her arm violently behind her back.

Incensed, Thomas snarled, “Release her at once !” Truly, he would have said more, but it was very hard indeed to talk in the downpour. When he started moving forward along the rather slippery deck, the others moved to block his path. It was the side-burned blonde man who levelled a gun at him.

_‘One of them has a revolver, I have no weapon. Damned devil’s filthy spawn.’_

His ears rang as thunder crashed above and to the right of them. Again, the deck pitched forward it gave him a brief advantage because it threw the blonde’s shot off. What else could he do, but take it ? So, he did throwing himself and colliding with the man‘s right-side. While they crashed into the deck, he punched the man in the face. Briefly, the world spun upside-down what with the blonde’s rolling them over to club him in the cheek with the revolver’s barrel.

_‘God’s bloody leaky **bollocks** ! Where is a constable when one wants one ? Nowhere.’_

Through his pain, his agony really, he noticed that Lucille and Mickelson were pressed against the bow’s forward railing. Lucille struggled as she tried to twist the razor-wielding hand from her throat. Pride filled him when she managed it then slammed her elbow into the red-haired man’s throat. _‘Ha ha, that’s it love, that’s how we do it.’_

It took him blinking rain from his eyes and turning his head to the left to see the black-haired men approaching. The bloody-nosed blonde got off him before quite suddenly said black-haired men were hauling him to his feet. A fist slammed into his sternum, winded, he coughed and doubled-over.

Still the hit seemed to clear his ears of the ringing. Just in time for him to hear, “Ah ah, we’ll have none of that now, Lady Sharpe. You kin’ drop the razor or the oh-so kind ‘n noble Sir Sharpe gets a new face-hole…in ‘iz forehead.”, too. That was Mickelson’s voice above the fading thunder.

_‘Hmpf, the stupid git must have Southern blood or some such because he’s off his-damned-fecking-onion.’_

A calloused hand tangled in his hair before it wrenched his head up to stare into the revolver’s barrel. Briefly, he choked as the slowing rain filled his mouth until he spat it at the blonde’s feet.

Not a foot from him, Lucille pleaded, “No, no. Don’t ! I-I…will accompany you just do not hurt my brother, please, please, I beg of you.”

How he hated that, she sounded near to tears all because of some utterly disgusting boors.

Thomas hissed back, “I will **not** allow this cur-dog to put his filthy paws on you sister. Let the coward kill me if he has the nerve.”

Perhaps it was the devil that made the storm clouds block the moon. Well, to whoever had done so, he was thankful. He slammed his heel into the red-haired man’s instep. The man on his right gave a startled cry of pain as Lucille stabbed him. Shocked the man on his left let go, he wrenched his right arm free to shove the left man off-balance. A flat palm crashed into his shoulder-blade, which caused him to stagger forward into the blonde man.

It was as if someone had shot him with a lightning-bolt, sounded like it too, as newer agony replaced the older. _‘Mother.’_ Equally, grey, and shocked, eyes met his while he sank to the deck.

Lucille’s voice became quite queer fading and echoing both as she exclaimed, “Thomas !”

Moon light glimmered off the pistol that was just a bit away he scrabbled for it. His fingers, which were becoming increasingly numb, refused him a satisfactory grip. The gun clanked as he dropped it leaving him, mentally, cursing enough to make a demon blush. Finally, he managed to grab it with both hands and level it at the blonde. _‘Okay, how in holy hell do I use this thing ? Why do I have to deal with shooting him ? Where are the Constables ?’_

The blonde man turned and fled back toward the left aisle and lower decks. So, feeling less able and conscious by the second, he half-twisted to squeeze the trigger…and nearly hit himself in the face with the recoil or what have you. Blood arced through the air as the bullet went through the man’s throat. _‘Two ? Why are there **two** holes in him ? The first was the one that hit me was it ? Damn.’_

For the third time the deck pitched, this time however Lucille caught him. Someone had loosened her hair so that it fell over him when she kissed him with trembling lips. Anxiously, her thumb stroked his cheekbone, she should never have looked so terrified as she did now. “T-Thomas ? W-what were you doing ?”

His chest hurt, his head felt light and his voice cracked, “S-saving you.” Warm blood filled his throat, again, choking him. Unconsciously, his head lolled to the side before a wet, rasping cough forced it out. Something soft, a damp, silken handkerchief, dabbed at his lips.

Lucille shook her head, her bloodstained hand wrapped around his tightly. “Why ? Why did you risk yourself ?”

With a weak grin, he replied, “I forgot who I was, thought my name was Sir Prize.”

As he’d intended she laughed. Dear God, she was even more beautiful than normal when she laughed. However, mere moments later her laughter devolved into ragged sobbing against his chest. “You must not die, Thomas, you cannot leave me alone. I will go mad, utterly mad without you, I swear.” Lucille paraphrased the words he’d always said, “You are the only thing I love ! Oh, please, brother, **please** don‘t do this to me.”

_‘Were it that I had a choice, sister, you know that which I would choose.’_

Before he could respond a distant voice said, “What the bloody hell is this then ? Maguire, Winchester, get your sorry arses up ’ere now !”

_‘Goddamned, shoddy work these Constables are, the lot ‘o them. Could you blighters not have arrived sooner ? More handsome than a thrice accursed rotting horse’s arse they are and still I would bugger the horse first.’_

Simply because the last minutes events, it was hard to identify which was the darkness that crept upon him now mere unconsciousness or implacable death. It mattered none. Everything faded suddenly to nought, the last image he saw was his sister’s red-rimmed eyes. Shortly, the nothingness was eclipsed by a queer whiteness of an intensity that hurt ones eyes, so that one immediately closed them for fear of blindness.

“Thomas, Thomas.” It confused him to hear a woman’s voice and he, cautiously, opened his eyes. _‘Ng, Lucille ? No, that most definitely is not Lucille. So, who’s voice is it ? Who is that ?’_

The woman had the same pale-skin and black-hair as his sister, but her eyes were a very dark shade of brown.

Hesitantly, he asked, “M-Mother, is that you ?”

She smiled before taking his hand, “You called for me did you not ?” and pulled him into a hug.

Uncertain of when he had done so, he replied, “I, well, I suppose that I did, yes.”

Incredibly awkwardly, he returned the hug because he never really knew her the hug’s pressure made him feel trapped. In all his life he had only ever hugged Lucille, so this was, in the technical sense, his second ever. Thankfully, she seemed to sense such and released him quickly.

Almost he wanted to scrub at himself, the phantom pressure was just unnerving, made him feel like a ghost was near-by. _‘Tell me there are not, please.’_ Instinctively, he looked about himself, over his shoulder and could not believe it. All around them was green grass a-and behind him was…surely it was not Allerdale Hall. It could not be because the sun shone on him with no feeling of the oppressive darkness that barred the light’s full warmth. It felt like a wonderful dream that would end far too soon.

_‘That looks nothing like home. Home is not whole, home is crumbling blue-bricks. It is a mess of locks, dusty rooms and fear. There is no feeling of fear here and it feels dare I say it happy.’_

With much pride in her eyes, Mother stroked his cheek and said, “Look at you, Thomas, oh, my handsome little boy is all grown-up. Hmm, where is your father ?” An affectionate sigh as she turned toward the house, “All he talks of is meeting you and now when you arrive he is nowhere in sight. **William,** William, come here !”

Trepidation filled his veins as he heard the entrance hall’s doors open then he too turned around. Father strode down the path towards him, the older man’s hair was of the darkest blonde, grey, grey just like his and Lucille’s eyes.

Father stopped beside Mother then reached out to clap his shoulder. “You have no idea just how proud you have made us, Thomas. You could not have turned into a better man if your mother and I had raised you ourselves. Even without us, you still raised, cared for and protected Lucille and never asked for anything in return. It is no wonder to either your mother or myself why she loved you as she did.”

Thomas was truthfully flabbergasted because he had never thought it praiseworthy. To him, it had always been because she trusted him, needed and wanted him to protect her from the outside world’s evils.

Embarrassed, he scratched at his nape before looking at the ground. “It was nothing, truly, F-Father. Anyone else could have, would have, done so.” Something about Mother and Father’s words struck him then. “Wait, why do you keep talking like it is past ? This makes no sense.”

Father’s hand tightened on his shoulder prompting him to look up, he noticed that sadness had filled Mother’s eyes. Finally, the dream-like quality of Allerdale Hall made sense. Utterly horrified, he stumbled backward and shook his head vigorously.

In denial, he shouted, “ **No !** No, no, no. Mother, Father, I-I can’t be dead. She needs me, she needs me and you know it !”

Mother tried to placate him, “Son, she does not have to return to Allerdale without you. She can live the rest of her life in America without fearing another ghost. She can have some peace.”

“Peace ? How can she have peace if she is too buried in grief for me ? The grief of knowing that my death was her fault ? There would be no peace for her in America, just as there would be none for me here knowing such. How do I leave ?” As he talked, he started backing further down the path.

Simultaneously, his parents exclaimed, “Thomas ! Thomas, please just come inside. You can still protect her from here.”

_‘A way out, there is a way out of here somewhere. Where is it ? Where is it ? The gate. The gate that must be it.’_

Filled with hope, he spun on his heel and dashed for the open gate. As he ran through it the vibrant colours of the grass, dirt-path and sky started fading. On instinct, he looked back in time to see Allerdale Hall too starting to fade. His parents stood just inside the gate, watching him as the path suddenly fell away.

Plunged into infinite darkness, his only thought was, _‘Please don’t lead to Hell, please don’t lead to Hell.’_ when the screaming started.


	4. World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The silence was like a physical force.

This was the reason with which Lucille had feared the outside world so. It was the outside world that had so viciously ripped from her that which not even the ghosts could take - her dearest brother, her only comfort.

There was no will to keep her from screaming anymore. “ **Murderer** , murderer !” Even more heartily than she had done anything yet this night like a swordfish against a fisherman, she struggled against Constable Maguire’s hold. Maguire refused to give her an inch after his slipping on the deck and loosing her the first time, still she kept trying to reach the blonde man again.

_‘Oh God, oh good God, Thomas is g-gone, h-he is dead. If I had simply gone with silently than you would still live. I am so, **so** sorry, brother. Had I to name all the times that you protected me I could not for I have long since lost count and yet, even once, I could not save you. ’_

The double bloodied, blasted, side-burned man clutched variously first his broken nose and then his shattered cheekbone. “I-I didn’t think Mickelson ‘ad actually loaded the bloody thing ! I didn’t mean ta kill ‘im, I swear, ya’ve got to believe me.”

_‘ Liar, liar ! If you meant not to use it then why did you have it ? Why ? He did nothing to deserve this. Nothing, nothing.’_

Exhausted finally, the swordfish submitted to the fisherman and she slumped against the grey-haired constable. Not able to look at the group that currently surrounded Thomas’s body, her aching eyes focused on the crescent moon. Mostly on how serene and majestic it looked simply floating in the sky. The sight of it made her wish that she could be so far away. 

Oh, how she wished that the horrid pain, that felt like her heart was pierced with a thousand swords that sank deeper and deeper still with her every breath, would end. That some ghost would come up from the farthest depths to steal her mind away. Perhaps if it were to go far enough she could forget that last gurgling breath and so with it the terrifying speed with which the light in Thomas’s eyes had fled. If only, there were a door to her memories that she could lock forever.

Unconsciously, a hoarse keening left her throat before it was cut-off by a particularly painful hiccup. With her arms wrapped around herself and her head lowered, she sniffled whilst clutching the bloodstained handkerchief tightly enough to mimic the moon’s shape in her palms. It was too infinitesimal to distract from the horror she had just witnessed.

Constable Maguire, who currently guided her toward the First Class quarters, murmured gently. “M’ Lady Sharpe, I think it best if you were to sleep as you’ve had a bad night, yeah ?”

_‘ How can I sleep when I will wait for him and receive ghosts instead ? When always I shall imagine the phantasms of his warmth and awaken guiltier than the devil ? I cannot. No, I don’t wish to sleep, at all.’_

Without wit, she exclaimed the first. Though surely he must have thought her mad Constable Maguire’s light-hazel eyes were still sympathetic. Maguire scratched his neck and said, “Ah, well, then how about a nice, warm, bath, eh ?”

_‘ Bath ? Thomas…used to brush my hair while I bathed and I luxuriated in it. It always felt so nice, felt. Ah !’_

Too mired within her guilt she noticed not a small crack in the deck thus she tripped over it and her own feet both. Maguire’s arm alone stopped her fall and it prompted, “Why ?! Why did that bastard target us ?” to leave her lips. 

While she was straightened up and they entered a maple-floored hallway, Maguire replied. “This was not the first time Mickelson did this. Last week he demanded ransom for the Lady of Carlisle ‘n raped her when it didn‘t reach ‘im fast enough. He had some bad blood with yourself and the rest of the Northern upper class he did. Considering he knew you were here I’d bet the blighter had somebody following you. Between you ‘n me if Sir Sharpe hadn’t done a superb job of killing him I think that Mickelson would have started fleecing the Americans next.”

_‘ Dear God, what kind of man could do such ? I wish this night never happened. Is this some terrific balancing act ? That a horrid evil cannot leave the world alone that an utter kindness must go as well. It should not be.’_

Perhaps she had indeed found a way to the moon as she appeared to be looking down on herself. Lucille heard herself whisper, “You are a good man, Constable Maguire, a very good man. Thomas w-would have liked to know you.”

The tan-skinned man gave her a smile, “Well, I will take that as the finest compliment.”

Her current oddity of position made it possible to see the blond Lady Wilson and her two five-year-old girls, Margaret and Eloise, watching them walk. If anything, it brought a laugh that was happy yet bitter to her lips remembering the shyness with which Margaret had asked Thomas to an impromptu dance earlier. How he had accepted, “Well, however could I refuse such a lovely young Lady ?” Remembered the happiness in his face that had only brightened when she had taken the second dance.

When Margaret went to approach her Lady Wilson pulled Margaret back with, “Let her alone, dear, I am sure that she will talk to you more happily tomorrow.”

Still she watched as Constable Maguire stopped a ways down the hall before her and - **her** room. Constable Maguire asked,  “Shall I stay outside in case someone tries to bother you ?”

Distantly, she felt her head shake, “No, no. Y-you have your duties to attend, I-I will be fine.”

Time blurred together as she entered the bedroom with its beige-painted walls and mahogany bed drifting into the washroom. For the first time, she truly noticed this tub was far fancier than she was used to using. It had the shiniest white marble with polished dark-golden clawed-feet and taps. Only when her skin touched the warmth of the bathwater did she return to herself instead of feeling she was separated from everything by a heavy fog. That also was when she realized that blood was oxidizing on her face and hands, in her hair.

Bleakly, she asked, “I look a mess do I not ?”

Of course, there was no answer and she started focusing on scrubbing herself clean. By the time, that she had simply finished cleaning her hands the water was red. It only became more so when she submerged herself to scrub much harder at her face and hair. For the most fleeting of moments whilst watching the air bubbles slowly float upward she considered simply staying submerged. If she did then she would not have to deal with the pain, with the fact that Thomas was gone.

_ ‘ No, no, I cannot. I cannot kill myself when Thomas spent his whole life saving me, w-when he **died** to save me. ’ _

A brief disgust at her selfishness filled her. With a shuddering gasp, she surfaced and scraped her hair off her face before resting it on her knees. For an obstinately illusive reason she was suddenly very hungry. Thomas would have said that it was certainly caused by the extremity of her current emotions, said emotions too frequent fluctuations and her loss of pluck before feeding her chocolate.

_‘ I want chocolate, but how can I eat the ones that he gave me now ? Always I have preferred the bitterest that we could afford. Even though he preferred the sweeter, he always humoured me and never let me gift him any except for his birthdays. And I still never thought that he needed it because he was already sweet enough.’_

All the while, the silence was beating at Lucille’s ears like a physical force because she kept expecting to hear Thomas’s footsteps on the tile. Unable to bare it a moment longer she scrambled out of the tub, wiping water from her eyes she pulled on one of the robes from home. Too small a comfort it was to sniff the robe - cologne, old books, a faint hint of macassar oil, warmth…Thomas - but it worked somewhat. She wandered out of the washroom in search of the champagne and chocolate. It was a surprisingly good combination with the champagne’s semi-sweetness offsetting the incredible bitterness of the chocolate. 

When she had finished, instinctively, she walked over to the bedside table to grab the snuffer to put out the fires. Only to remember at the last moment that unlike the very much-isolated Allerdale Hall here the lights were mostly electric. As such, she lit the fireplace before she flicked off the lights.

_‘ They’re so strange. How can one trust them when one knows not where the source is ? Fire at the least one can see and when it is put out one knows that it is, near, surely out. I want to go home, I want to lock the doors and not ever look back at this horror.’_

After a moment of distrustfully staring into the near darkness waiting for ghosts, she disrobed and found herself staring at the bed as the firelight cast flickering shadows over it. It had her remembering herself and Thomas’s first joining. How gentle Thomas was how he had soothed not only her pains during, but also her joyous tears afterward. That comfort seemed so far away, even yesterday afternoon felt a thousand years ago. 

However momentarily she was blinded as the door suddenly opened. Instinct told her that it was a dream when Thomas’s voice asked, “Sister ?”

Unsure, she turned and in reverse of their position years ago asked, “B-brother, Thomas ?”

Graceful like an angel the dream closed the door and approached. An utterly gorgeous smile followed with a breathlessly relieved, “Lucille.”

Truly, it was a dream until the fire cast its warm light across the pale chest to reveal…stitches…just above the right pectoral and below his clavicle. “Oh, oh, Thomas.”

Lucille could not help, but laugh like a child as she threw herself into his arms. A series of deep kisses while she caressed the stitches. Her hands wandered too over Thomas’s back and hips before she laid her head on his chest. The sense of reassurance at feeling his heart beating again was immeasurable. 

Finally, the words burst from her lips, “H-how are you alive, Thomas ? Y-you were…he killed you !”

His hand lifted her chin and he tried to sooth her, “I know not if where I went was truly Heaven, but how could I stay when you need me ?”

_‘ Thomas gave up Heaven itself for me ?’_

 It was quite possible that her anger was in all conventional senses irrational, but she felt morally justified. “You gave up **Heaven** **!** You left the one place without ghosts, without fear of any kind, for me, why ? Why would you give that up ? ”

Thomas’s eyes were pleading, but his tone was steady. “It may have our parents, it may have Allerdale Hall without locked rooms and fear, but it means nothing without you. If Heaven means leaving you alone to go mad with the ghosts, Lucille, than I want it nought. How could I stay there when you begged me so not to leave you ?”

Once again, firelight flickered over the stitches his skin was barely darker than those stitches. Very slowly, she raised her head and stated, “Our parents, you left them too.”

Warm fingers slid up to cup and stroke her cheek. “They were wonderful, but as they understood why you love me surely they understand why I left. Someday we will meet our parents together until then I am content here, sister.”

With her anger diminished, it made her chuckle. “Well, you should have stayed there as you know how incredibly selfish I am.”

A smile crossed Thomas’s lips, “I expect you will be very jealous indeed when we find that American girl.”

She leaned up and kissed him again, “Of course, I have never had to share my dearest brother and lover before. I expect that I shall get something in return for being so generous ?“

Thomas nodded faintly, his eyes moving to the bed as he hummed. “Yes, but not tonight.”

_‘I can wait however long because he needs rest after these stitches, not to mention his dying.’_

Her eyes mimicked his action while a much better plan formed. “Might I ask for a favour instead ?”

“What might that be ?”

Truly happy laughter left her lips, “Hmm, well, it will not be hard…on me. I think that it would amuse greatly to hear this girl’s reaction to your experiences. Surely you agree, brother, that I deserve only so much with this being my idea in the first place.”

One of his hands trailed slowly over her own right clavicle. The look on his face suggested that he was considering the situation before he too laughed.

“Yes, that does seem like it should be quite amusing for us both. I will bet you, sister, a box of chocolate that she asks for a key to the house.  Now, shall we go to bed ? After all, it is not extraneous activity for me if it happens to you. ” Thomas finished the last words with a quite satisfied smirk.

A shiver ran down her spine as his index finger circled her areola. Breathlessly, she disagreed, “One box is not enough. I will get you two both because she most assuredly will ask and because you certainly deserve it.”

Thomas finished the topic by saying, “That is fine. After this evening’s most stressful events you deserve a bit of pleasure, Lucille.”

Needless to say, she was quite happy to forget the evening. Yes, when the time came nigh she was jealous of the American girl, Edith, but Edith was an outsider. She would not allow the outside world to take Thomas from her again…no matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping that my next Thomas/Lucille fic will be far lighter and fluffier than this one.


End file.
